


The Kissing Booth

by kjack89



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-12 04:00:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28879131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: “Are youshittingme?”Grantaire stared down at the brightly colored flyer in apparent disgust, and Bossuet bent over to pry it from him. “What could possibly…” he started, trailing off as he saw what had caught Grantaire’s ire. “Ah. I’ll take it he didn’t, uh, clear it with you first?”“It’s not about clearing it with me,” Grantaire snapped, snatching the flyer back. “I’m not his keeper. But I would think it would get at least a cursory mention.”“What’s going on?” Joly asked from across the table, using Bossuet’s preoccupation to snag a bite of hashbrowns from his plate. Grantaire just thrust the flyer at Joly, who took it from him, raising both eyebrows as he read out loud, “‘Pucker Up for Change – A Kissing Booth to Fight to Legitimize Sex Work’?” He glanced up at Grantaire, who was scowling. “But what does this…”It was his turn to trail off as he spotted the name listed among the other participants at the bottom of the flyer: Enjolras.
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 105





	The Kissing Booth

**Author's Note:**

> This was a prompt that was begging for angst, and like the cruel mistress I am, I denied it.
> 
> Usual disclaimer. Please be kind and tip your fanfic writers in the form of comments and/or kudos!
> 
> And happy Inauguration Day to all who celebrate :)

“Are you _shitting_ me?” 

Grantaire stared down at the brightly colored flyer in apparent disgust, and Bossuet bent over to pry it from him. “What could possibly…” he started, trailing off as he saw what had caught Grantaire’s ire. “Ah. I’ll take it he didn’t, uh, clear it with you first?”

“It’s not about clearing it with me,” Grantaire snapped, snatching the flyer back. “I’m not his keeper. But I would think it would get at least a cursory mention.”

“What’s going on?” Joly asked from across the table, using Bossuet’s preoccupation to snag a bite of hashbrowns from his plate. Grantaire just thrust the flyer at Joly, who took it from him, raising both eyebrows as he read out loud, “‘Pucker Up for Change – A Kissing Booth to Fight to Legitimize Sex Work’?” He glanced up at Grantaire, who was scowling. “But what does this…”

It was his turn to trail off as he spotted the name listed among the other participants at the bottom of the flyer: Enjolras. Joly switched his glance to Bossuet. “What do you think?” he murmured out of the corner of his mouth. “Do you think Courfeyrac blackmailed him into it?”

“Either that or Combeferre’s getting revenge for something,” Bossuet muttered back.

Grantaire cleared his throat. “I don’t think the why really matters,” he said, his tone clipped. “When the more important thing is that my boyfriend is participating in a kissing booth and, y’know, neglected to tell me about it.”

“I’m sure it just slipped his mind,” Bossuet said bracingly. “You know that Enjolras has been so focused on the cash bail reform bill that’s in the House at the moment that he probably completely forgot he even agreed to participate.”

“Or,” Joly added, in what he clearly thought was a helpful way, “maybe Courfeyrac signed him up as a joke, and Enjolras doesn’t even know about it!”

“Or, maybe Enjolras forgot that he had a boyfriend who wouldn’t be super thrilled about him macking on a bunch of randos for ten bucks a pop,” Grantaire said sourly.

Joly and Bossuet both stared at him for a moment before Bossuet bit his lip, and Joly elbowed him. “Not the time,” he hissed, and Bossuet shook his head rapidly, clearly trying to stop himself from laughing.

Grantaire sighed. “What?”

“Just…’macking’?” Bossuet repeated with a snigger.

The corners of Joly’s mouth twitched. “I thought you were going to point out the use of the word ‘randos’,” he said, the pitch of his voice rising as he tried not to giggle.

Grantaire sighed again. “You two are the worst friends,” he grumbled, picking up his phone and texting Enjolras the four most ominous words in the English language: We need to talk.

* * *

They didn’t talk.

Enjolras texted Grantaire back that he was in and out of meetings between the community bond fund and various state legislators, and asked if it could wait until that night. Considering that the damned kissing booth was scheduled for that afternoon, that didn’t exactly give Grantaire any opportunity to bring up the fact that Enjolras was planning on spending his afternoon locking lips with random passersby.

He texted Jehan. _Pretty fucked up that passersby is the plural of passerby, and not passerbys._

_I’ll take it you’re freaking out about the kissing booth thing?_ Jehan responded not even a minute later.

Grantaire didn’t bother asking Jehan how he knew about the kissing booth, or how he knew that Grantaire was upset about it – he had learned a long time ago not to question Jehan’s borderline omniscient ways. _Don’t you think he should’ve at least told me about it??_

_I think that you’re interpreting the fact that he didn’t as evidence that he doesn’t care about you_ , Jehan replied. _Which is crap. Enjolras loves you._

_Loves me enough to make out with strangers without telling me about it?_

Jehan’s response took longer this time. _I highly doubt there will be any making out. And have you considered that the reason he didn’t tell you is precisely because he didn’t want you to feel this way?_

The thought had occurred to Grantaire, who scowled down at his phone. _Doesn’t change the fact that he should’ve told me_ , he texted stubbornly.

_Maybe not. But maybe you should give him a chance to explain tonight._

Grantaire’s scowl deepened and he shoved his phone back in his pocket. He figured he could be magnanimous enough to allow Enjolras a chance to explain.

But he sure as hell wasn’t going to wait for that night.

* * *

“Next,” called the bored-looking guy who was managing the short line waiting for the kissing booth, and Grantaire took a deep breath and stepped forward. “Boy, girl, or nonbinary?”

“Sorry?” Grantaire said, blinking at him in confusion.

“Would you prefer to kiss a boy, a girl, or a nonbinary person?” the guy clarified.

Grantaire knew he should be impressed that something as asinine as a kissing booth was inclusive, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to be. “Boy,” he said, and the guy gestured for him to head over to the right side of the booth.

Taking a deep breath, Grantaire squared his shoulders and stalked over, plunking a ten dollar bill down in front of where Enjolras was sitting. “I believe this is the going rate,” he said stiffly.

The look on Enjolras’s face was everything that Grantaire had hoped it would be, a mix of horror, regret, and a particularly Enjolras-like defiance. “I suppose I owe you an explanation,” Enjolras started, but Grantaire held up a hand.

“First things first,” he said. “I paid, so I should get what I’m owed.” Enjolras rolled his eyes but nonetheless leaned in obliging and gave Grantaire a swift peck on the lips. “Not sure that was ten dollars worth…” Grantaire said, before continuing, “Now, about that explanation—”

It was Enjolras’s turn to hold up a finger, and he leaned back in his seat to talk to someone on the other side of the booth. “Hey, I’m tapping out for the moment.” Whatever response he got was apparently enough, as he stood, reaching out automatically for Grantaire’s hand.

For a brief moment, Grantaire thought about yanking his hand away, but even as ticked off as he was, he couldn’t do that.

Instead, he let Enjolras take his hand, lacing their fingers together as they walked away from the kissing booth . Enjolras glanced over at Grantaire and opened his mouth to say something, but Grantaire shook his head. “Not here,” he said tersely.

Instead, they headed to a nearby Starbucks, though Enjolras made a face when he realized where they were going. “Starbucks, really?” he asked.

“You spent an afternoon kissing people who are not me,” Grantaire said. “The least you can do is buy me an overpriced coffee.”

Enjolras didn’t argue any further, and they both got their coffees and made their way over to stand against the bar, their shoulders brushing against each other as they drank their coffee in silence.

“So,” Grantaire started eventually, and Enjolras sighed, draining his coffee.

“So I gather you’re upset,” he hedged, and Grantaire looked flatly at him.

“No shit, Sherlock.”

A small smile crossed Enjolras’s face. “Am I at least allowed to make my defense?”

Grantaire arched an eyebrow. “If you think there’s anything you can say in your defense that will make even a remote bit of difference.”

“How about this: I agreed to the kissing booth before you and I started officially dating,” Enjolras said calmly. “And you know that I honor my commitments.”

“Just not the commitment you made to me.”

It was unfair of Grantaire to say, and he knew it, but Enjolras just sighed and shook his head. “I’m not going to pretend that I owe you every part of my life,” he said. “And I’m not going to pretend that I didn’t decide that asking forgiveness was easier than asking permission.”

Grantaire frowned. “You don’t need my permission,” he said.

Enjolras arched an eyebrow. “Isn’t that what this is about?”

“No, this is about you deciding that it was easier for us to not at least have a conversation about it,” Grantaire said evenly. “I know damn well that you don’t need my permission for anything, and vice-versa. But you still should’ve at least given me a head’s up about it so that I wasn’t completely blindsided.”

For a moment, Enjolras looked like he wanted to argue, but instead he ducked his head and nodded. “You’re right.”

Grantaire blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“I said, you’re right,” Enjolras repeated, a little louder.

Grantaire smirked at him. “Oh I heard you, I just wanted to make you say it again.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Hilarious,” he said dryly.

“Yeah, but my superb wit is one of the things you love about me,” Grantaire said, still grinning.

“You are unfortunately correct,” Enjolras said with a light laugh, pulling Grantaire in and kissing him. “So does that mean that I’m forgiven?”

Grantaire’s eyes narrowed. “That depends. You got any other makeout sessions for charity planned?”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “There was no making out,” he said, a little impatiently. “It was just kissing.”

“Tomato, to-mah-to,” Grantaire muttered under his breath. 

“And it wasn’t technically for charity. It was in protest of how things like kissing booths are completely normalized and accepted, but sex work is marginalized and—” Grantaire yawned exaggeratedly and Enjolras rolled his eyes again, but it was with obvious affection. “It wouldn’t kill you to pretend to care.”

Grantaire arched an eyebrow. “Pot, meet kettle.”

Enjolras’s expression softened. “I do care,” he said. “And I’m sorry for making you doubt it.”

Grantaire softened as well, not at all surprisingly. He knew he wasn’t going to be able to stay mad at Enjolras for long. “Well, for that at least, I am more than willing to forgive you.”

“And for the rest?”

But that also didn’t mean that Grantaire was completely willing to just roll over. “Answer my previous question.”

“No, I have absolutely no future plans for any kind of kissing booth or anything like that,” Enjolras said firmly. “Besides, I don’t know if I could bring myself to do it again.”

Grantaire cocked his head slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I can’t keep kissing strangers and pretending that they’re you.”

The breath seemed to catch in Grantaire’s throat, and a slow grin spread across his face. “Good answer,” he managed, before tugging Enjolras to him and kissing him.

When they broke apart, both men were grinning. “That’ll be ten dollars,” Enjolras said, a little breathlessly.

“Shut up,” Grantaire said, laughing.

“So am I definitely forgiven now?” Enjolras asked.

Grantaire just kissed him again, curling his fist in Enjolras’s shirt, knowing full well that the kiss would say far more than words ever could, and content in the knowledge that from here on out, the only person that would be kissing Enjolras was him.

And he wouldn’t even have to pay $10 to do so.


End file.
